


for the heroes, a will.

by arurun



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Babies, Cute Kids, Dying Will Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Gen, Gokudera loves UMAs, Lambo joins 1-A, Mentions of neglect, Minor Gore Descriptions, None of these people should ever raise a baby, Past Character Death, Reincarnation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, in which flames have nasty repercussions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arurun/pseuds/arurun
Summary: They find themselves in a world of quirks after they die, living as an infant with memories of a war long past. Life in this world isn't any easier than the last one, but this time, they'll be the ones protected.
Comments: 215
Kudos: 1723
Collections: Pacing's bests, Precious Rare and Unique, Reincarnation and Transmigration





	1. hayato, somewhere, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! welcome to this story! I thought I washed my hands off bnha a while back but the latest bnha chapter caused me so much pain (if you haven't read vigilante, go) that I just had to write something fluffy. this is a crossover featuring the khr cast, who have died as mafiosi, being reincarnated into the bnha world. They'll probably stay babies for a while more.

“I’m Bubaigawara Jin. So you can be uh, Junior.”

“A’m Gou(!) ku-ge-rya, Aya, touu!”

“What was that, Junior? Sorry, I can’t hear you from up here.”

“Ey’mma blouw yar b’ryai-zn aout, jh’itty j’eezer!”

Twice yawned. A paper bag on his head, two holes cut out for eyes, he slouched in the chair, absently watching the little tyke try and crawl up his jeans.

The child was three years old, according to information broker Giran. Twice didn’t know anything else about the kid, and wasn’t too interested at all. Maybe it was because Giran was apparently raising this kid, but he sure had a mouth on him… were toddlers supposed to speak like that?

“Geyt o-ffa may cha’ir!”

“Gay toffee Mary Chen?”

“Ma! CHER!”

“Mon cherie?”

“Yer m’ssin wit mee! Yu’ ahhhs- hoe!!”

Who taught the baby what an  _ asshole _ was? Or a  _ shitty geezer, _ that was eloquent.  _ I’ll blow your brains out? _ Did toddlers even know what a brain was??

Twice waved his leg about, admiring how the toddler just clung onto his pants while making strangled whining sounds, being too physically short to escape. 

“He’s trying to tell you you’re in his chair,” Giran helpfully supplied.

Twice perked up at that. “Oh, is that so? No wonder this chair was tiny,” he offered a splendid observation, “alrighty then. **_Bitch_ ** **I liked that chair!** What are you a baby?!”

He stood up, kid still on his knee as he deposited himself on another chair. The toddler had teeth, apparently, because he was trying to chew on Twice.

His head of overgrown silver hair was pretty unique for a baby of all things, but nothing out of the ordinary in this quirk-filled civilisation. The problem was, silver wasn’t a familiar hair colour

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask for years, Giran, what’s with the kid?” Twice shot the question at the man immediately, “not that I care-- **you’re asking** **_because_ ** **you’re interested** \-- No I don’t!” 

Giran breathed out heavily, shoulder sinking as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

The child set himself free from Twice, clambering onto his chair and settling down like a polite audience, not saying another word as he stared at the two, acting as if he belonged in their conversation.

“Hell if I know,” Giran shrugged, “he’s like you and me, y’know? Just wandered around one day, some day, without a place-- ain’t no place kids like these can belong, so I took him in. Simple as that.”

Twice blinked, “not even an orphanage?”

“He’s out here  _ because _ the orphanage booted him,” Giran pointed the cigarette in his direction, “he’s an unusually intelligent child. Probably didn’t want to be associated with a bunch of fucking babies anyways.”

Twice simply hummed. In this world of quirks, oddlings came up every once in a while. Maybe this child had something like a knowledge quirk, just like the principal of UA had, something that set him apart from the normality.

And he was only three. What a sad child.

“His name is uh,” Giran rubbed the back of his head, “something-or-the-other, Ayato.”

“It’s AhhhHH-” the child stressed the word so strongly, “gya-tou!”

“Agato?”

“KhhhhaAA-” he erupted into a choking fit when something entered his throat, but the two adults just stared.

“Kayato?” Twice tried, looking at Giran.

“He just can’t pronounce it. Maybe it’s Gayato? Or Nayato,” Giran looked at Twice too, deeming the kid’s vocal chords a lost cause, “Sayato?”

“Hiiiiiii!!!” now the kid was right beside Giran, frustration evident as he tugged at the man’s pant leg, “heeee!!”

“Heeeee?” Giran repeated, confused.

“Ah,” Twice set a fist on his palm, suddenly understanding, “Hayato!”

The kid all but leaped onto Twice’s lap, eyes bright as he furiously nodded, “Ayato! Ayato! Me, nayme, ‘ayato!”

And Twice wrapped him in a hug.

“Can I keep him?”

“The fuck? Hell no.”

-

For Hayato, life has been tough from day one.

Being reincarnated and being conscious of it at the age of one, he decided that life was an utter joke. From the silver hair to the foreign green eyes, everything was the same. His skin was pristine, spotless, clean-- no scars, no wounds, no birthmarks.

It was like a dream come true, to not have to walk around with bandages anymore. It was like a miracle, to have both arms made of flesh again.

(His death wasn’t pretty, nor was it quick. But it was over and here they were again--)

He had his memories. Very clearly, he remembered everything, from his name to his oath to the very moment he decided it was his time to die.

Being born into an orphanage as some guy’s illegitimate then discarded child, he didn’t have a name beyond  _ silver-child _ , Ginro. It was a small place full of love and care, but Hayato could care less about those things. He never really had them in his first life-- he can go his second without.

As soon as he was weaned and capable of walking more than three steps without crying, he ran off. 

The wild was a hard place for a baby. In fact, he probably didn’t think twice about that impulsive decision before he regretted it. He was incredibly lucky that Giran found him when he did.

“Yes, I was drunk when I found the kid,” Giran grumbled to Twice, who was teasingly interrogating him about illegitimate children and kidnapping. “But could you blame me? He even got me a glass of water! A two year old!”

“That’s because you’re a good boy, aren’t you, Hayato?” Twice cooed in an obnoxious tone, and Hayato had the gall to look smug on his lap.

“Don’t worry, I did my proper research and everything,” Giran waved him off, “the orphanage was some sketchy place anyways. They marked him off as dead once they couldn’t find him. They probably had other children to worry about.”

“What?!” Twice exclaimed, nearly kicking Hayato off his lap, “what poor excuse of a human are they? I’ve heard rumours about the deteriorating foster systems and orphanage chains, but this is ridiculous.”

“Like you can talk,” Giran growled, wordlessly reminding Twice that they were, in fact, not upstanding members of society. “Anyways, I’m raising the kid properly-- hell, the kid can raise himself-- so I really don’t see the problem.”

Maybe it was ironic that Hayato was, of all things, picked up by the underground. It was a stark difference to his noble Mafia line of the past, but this was kinda fresh and fun. Giran cared less about matters and tact, smoking and drinking in his presence.

(Yay, Hayato now has a reason to pick up smoking when he gets a little older… his fingers are itching for them already.)

“There  _ is _ a problem!’ Twice suddenly sounded serious, “what about his identification? Are you going to get him registered properly? What’s his quirk?

“Kwerth?” Hayato spoke up before he realized, curiosity spiking, “wuz’s a… kwer-k?”

-

The peak of Hayato’s second life was finding out that UMAs exist.

“Yuuma! Yumma!” he pointed at the guest, who had a lizard’s head, who looked back at him like he wasn’t sure what this little thing was.

“Not a yuuma or whatever you were trying to say, Hayato,” Giran chastised him gently, “don’t point at people, that’s rude, and go to the back with the guy in the creepy paper bag,” he pointed at Twice.

“Mistu’r, are y’a yuuuma?!” Hayato was promptly ignoring him to cling onto the lizard guy, admiring his scales, “you’re like a reezaard-man! Yer green! Das so coool!”

And the lizardman flustered, carefully crouching down like the little human was precious. He flushed, then said in a sort of awed voice, “you think I’m  _ cool _ ?”

Hayato’s eyes were sparkling with pure interest. 

“Sorry about him, this is like, the first time he’s seen a mutant quirk,” Giran told him, apologizing half-heartedly, “I’ll address your issue in a sec, let me just get him… out of the way… or not.”

The lizardman was making obnoxiously cool poses while Hayato squealed at every one. They were laughing and he was lifting the kid up with an arm, showing off his reptilian strength--

Giran facepalmed. 

“Oh, found it,” Twice was flipping through the kid’s notebook, which was half full of incoherent nonsense so he didn’t read, but there was this one page with a huge UMA written on top. “So apparently a yuuma is an Unidentified Mysterious Animal.”

“How in the hell does this kid know that word and not know what a quirk is?” Giran turned to him, flabbergasted, “is he a young genius or a fucking idiot?”

“And news flash, he knows how to write in fluent Japanese,” Twice flipped to another page, noting the intricately gothic skulls drawn on the edge, “so uh, what language is  _ amico _ ?”

“That’s italian for friend,” Giran raised an eyebrow, “you’re not telling me…”

“Woah, so half of this book was written in Italian!” Twice realized brightly.

“You’re kidding me!”


	2. ryohei, and his very loud dad.

“Hey hey all you listeners out there!” Present Mic posed dramatically at the top of a lifeguard tower by the beach, “say it with me, EXTREME!”

Beside him, a tiny five-year old raised his arms and declared, “EXTREME!”

Standing at the shore with the look of death on his face, Aizawa groaned longsufferingly, “why is this my life.”

-

Ryohei was, at first, a little confused. He woke up, and suddenly, the air was cold, the beds were soft, and his arms could move.

He was three years old at the time. When he tried to stand up, he almost freaked out just  _ knowing _ he could stand. Maybe spending ten years on a wheelchair really did something to his psyche. He almost cried, real men never cry!

It was that very day he woke up, that a man with obnoxiously blonde hair walked into the orphanage, seeking to foster him.

The energy and the colours, it all reminded him of Colonnello. Present Mic was nothing like Colonnello once you got to know him, but at first, the vague sense of familiarity was all he needed.

He still didn’t understand why Present Mic chose him, but he was grateful.

For the first time in forever, his throat moved and he yelled with vigor, at the top of his lungs-- “it’s an extremely good morning!” 

Present Mic would always laugh it off dryly (maybe it being six in the morning was a problem?) before tugging him back under the sheets, curling in tightly as if Ryohei was a little teddy bear.

But he never scolded him for being loud.

He never told Ryohei to  _ stop making such a ruckus _ or anything of the sort. In fact, Mic encouraged it. The neighbours also told him the same-- something about how they’re used to it because Mic was loud too. 

Maybe, maybe in this world, Ryohei wasn’t as much of an oddball.

-

He didn’t really get the thing about Quirks. He just immediately connected them to the flames, went ‘ohh’, and left Present Mic there utterly confused about what Ryohei understood or didn’t.

If this world was the same world, just too far into the future, then maybe Flames had been a quirk too. The concept seemed different, so he sat down and thought about it.

Flames were like, a thing anyone could awaken and it was all the same split into seven different flames for sky. Quirks were diverse, from mutations to teleportation to elements. Yeah, they really  _ were _ different. 

(Wait.)

“I’m usin’ my  _ brain _ ??”

He bashed his head against the table once-- okay no more, his tiny head can’t handle it. But really, that was freaky. He was actually  _ thinking _ , oh my god that was so scary.

(Anyways.)

Apparently, they were hereditary? But he was adopted… what was his quirk? How did people even find out these kinda stuff? Did they just randomly  _ know _ one day?

He stretched out his hand-- and with a burst of will, his Soul Fire flared a startling yellow against the sky. Flickering brightly, a glaring sun.

He watched it for a moment, eyes full of weariness and contempt-- then he closed his palm and extinguished the flares.

(If possible, he never wanted to use it again.)

-

Eraserhead reminded him of Kyouya. 

After meeting him for about two seconds, Ryohei became entirely entranced by the fact, and soon he was obsessively clinging onto him in hopes of getting the word ‘I’ll bite you to death’ out of him.

(Current progress: still no luck.)

Ryohei found many things about the underground hero rather interesting. For example, he’d complain every step of the way if he was told to babysit, but would still drop everything in his hands to stop Ryohei from tumbling over a flight of stairs.

It was kinda fun to see him scrambling over everything sometimes, especially that one time he threw his coffee on two poor fellows because Ryohei strayed a little too much into the middle of the road.

“You sure care a lot about the kid, Eraser. That’s unexpected.”

“Yamada would shatter my eardrums if anything happened to him. It’s a survival instinct. The kid apparently doesn’t have any though.”

The Hotta brothers, two cafe owners-- _ “we’re a recycle shop, Ryo-chan, a  _ **_recycle shop_ ** _ , so can you tell mean Mister Eraser to stop treating us like we’re baristas?” _ \-- in the corner of a street in Naruhata, were nice people.

Mic had a legitimate job in a radio station, so he was much busier than Aizawa who stuck with low-exposure patrols on a daily basis. Aizawa had babysitting duty most of the time, but he usually just pawned the kid off to someone he could trust until evening.

“But it really isn’t fine to drop him off on us so often. You know, because we’re--”  _ drug dealers _ , but Brother #1 held himself back from saying it in lieu of the kid. Eraser glared at him, and the threat is clear.

Beside him, Ryohei sparkled, oblivious. (An extremely secret conversation is extremely happening, cool!)

“We’re very sorry. We’ll take care of the kid, please don’t arrest us,” Brother #1 corrected himself weakly, completely defeated.

“Bro, if you’re so weak, you’re never going to get rid of him!” Brother #2 whined. “We can’t do any business with him around!”

“You have the recycle shop,” Aizawa muttered, sipping on his coffee, like him sitting in the entrance of their back door was not interfering with these main business or anything.

“At this rate I think we’re better off opening a cafe or something, since Eraser apparently likes our coffee this much,” Brother #2 grumbled.

But Brother #1 already has his attention elsewhere.

“Here you go, Ryo-chan,some hot chocolate. There are marshmallows on top!” he cooed, handing off the steaming cup to the giggling five-year old who cheered at the ‘extreme hot chocolate!’ before taking it.

Silence. Then blow.

“Bro, you’re playing right into his hands, Ryo-chan is just a bribe! Don’t fall for it!”

-

“Stay in there and don’t struggle, I’m going to jump.”

Ryohei had never ridden in anyone’s scarf before, so this was honestly interesting. He’s curled up around Aizawa’s head, encircled by the cloth.

It was a little hard. 

It wasn’t normal fabric… it was some sort of steel. They looked like bandages, but definitely weren’t. They were restraints.

The world of heroes was fascinating. Bursting rightout from a comic book, feeling the wind against his face and hollering into the air in almighty glee-- Ryohei loved it.

(But Ryohei knows, that despite his own vigilance, he will always be on the other side of this world-- after all, Mafia were never supposed to be associated with good nature and kindness.)

_ (No matter how much Tsuna tried to change that, they failed back then and will inevitably fail this time too.) _

He ran every morning, from one end of the little neighbourhood to the other. He trains, he gets stronger. He’s a pretty frightening little five-year-old.

But he’s not strong enough, not yet.

He’s still too young and time is going painfully slow.

-

“How’d he get this scar?” Aizawa asked one day in a sleepover. He had a towel around Ryohei’s head, drying off the kid’s hair. He ran a finger across the kid’s brow, to the little scar on his crown.

“Hm?” Mic comes by, holding a change of clothes for Ryohei, “ah, he’s had that from the orphanage, I think.”

Ryohei felt Aizawa tense and tut. Mic sighed helplessly-- and the implication was clear. They probably thought it was either abuse or neglect, especially with a scar this dark. Ryohei didn’t really feel anything for it, though. It’s just an old scar that was carried over his death. He barely remembered how it felt the first time anymore.

“I was savin’ Kyouko!” he declared before the mood got too stale. “There were like, a big bunch of bullies!”

Mic blinked down at him as the kid got himself dressed, “who’s Kyoko?”

Brightly, Ryohei told him, “my little sister!”

The entire world froze around them, then Ryohei realized his mistake.

“You had… a sister?” Mic looked like he’d just committed a crime, “did I perhaps, oh no, did I?”

Ryohei frantically shook his head, “it was from a, uh,” he panicked, “a really, really,  _ really _ long time ago!” he said it quickly, “she’s not here anymore!”

Another startling freeze and pause.

(Congratulations, you managed to mess up twice in two sentences!) Ryohei wished he could bash his head against the table and start his third chance at life right now.

In a second, Mic was a sobbing mess, wrapping his arms around the child as he cried, “you poor child!” over and over again.

Aizawa facepalmed, wondering if he could go home.

Ryohei sighed, but maybe this overdramatic kind of parent was perfect for him. For once, he wasn’t the most dramatic man in the house.

(Kyoko had died two years before he did. Mourning and crying, he’s had enough of that now...)

“So, did you win?” Aizawa asked him. When Ryohei only stared back, confused, Aizawa elaborated, “against the bullies.”

Ryohei grinned, “of course I did!”


	3. hayato, officially a murder child.

“About your payment…” Giran gathered the papers to hand off to the client, thinking about the sum. This wasn’t much, but he was tight on cash this month so maybe…

“Ah, about that,” the client stands up, his owl eyes blinking rapidly as he retrieved something from his back pocket, “I happened to hear a rumour that there was someone here who fancies--”

His sentenced hadn’t even finished, but out charged Hayato’s eyes glinting with greed as he dove for the item, “a gilba poc-keht swatc!”  _ A silver pocketwatch _ . Okay.

Giran facepalmed. Not again.

“There’zuh  _ crosh _ on it, Gee-gee! A  _ cross _ !!” Hayato had the silverware in his hands, entirely fascinated by the old little thing. Seriously…

“Hayato, you have  _ enough _ silver already,” Giran said sternly, “if we keep accepting silver substitutes for cash we’re going to have to start rationing  _ meals _ .”

Hayato had an unhealthy obsession for silver, gothic accessories. From rings to decorations to stationery, he collected them like little keepsakes. 

They look like they'd make good money if sold, but Hayato wouldn't let him  _ touch  _ them.

Unfortunately, the clients heard word of it, and they began to bring about rare things they found just to appease the child. More often than not, they used that as a form of payment for information instead of bringing solid cash.

(And like the softie he was, Giran let it be. God, oh god, save me.)

Waving off the customer, who with good graces actually left some cash in addition to the pocket watch (it’s just something I found, no worries about it. But do feed that child, he looks so little for his age!) before leaving.

Hayato looked positively pleased with himself.

Giran sighed longsufferingly.

-

“Gee-gee, r’yua a veeellan?”

Giran had no idea how this gothic-obsessed emo child could sound that innocent. Hayato rarely bothered him for anything, actually he never did, but this was a question he hadn’t asked yet.

“Not exactly,” Giran answered, “I work for whoever pays. Good or bad, that’s none of my business.”

When Hayato simply stared back, an almost knowing look on his face, Giran found himself wondering just what went through Hayato’s mind.

No normal three-year-old would understand this gray lifestyle they led. They’d worship the heroes, like everyone else-- it wasn’t as if Giran was hiding the heroics from the kid, but the kid wasn’t as interested in them as he should be and that was rather strange.

Like, even Giran thought All Might was cool. Hayato, though, was more interested in a passerby with an arm made of wood or a face made of cement.

What a weird child. He fits right in with all these sickos.

“Giran, if you keep letting him call you  _ Gee-gee _ your reputation’s gonna go  _ Gee-gee _ too,” Twice said dryly.

“I’ll  _ Gee-gee _ your fucking head in, you deadpool ripoff,” Giran didn’t miss a beat, “Hayato can call me whatever he wants. If you become at least  _ half _ as cute as he is, maybe you can give your opinion about it.”

Twice, despite the black and red mask on his head, looked pretty crestfallen.

“Hey, Haya-chan, would you call me something too?” Twice pleaded tearfully, “your  _ Gee-gee _ is always so mean to me! Like everyone else in the world. You’re the only light in my tunnel!”

Sitting comfortably on Twice’s lap, Hayato was devouring a melon bread with the vigor of a hungry cat. 

When addressed by Twice, he looked up, cheeks stuffed-- then turned back to his bread, opting to ignore the dramatist.

Giran blew out a cloud of smoke, and Twice cried to the heavens. “Everyone under this building is so  _ mean _ !” he whined. 

-

One night, Giran woke up to explosions.

He rushed out of his room, found the source of the noise-- and his heart nearly sank at the realization that Hayato was missing, and it had come from the room Twice usually slept in. Hayato loved to sneak into that room when Twice wasn’t around.

Was it an assassination attempt? After all, Giran had plenty of enemies and one very large weakness in Hayato. It would make sense for them to go after the kid if they wanted something to do with Giran.

He was alone in the abandoned house they used as their base. If Hayato had been in there… oh, he didn’t want to imagine.

“Hayato!” he opened the door, gun in hand. Pressing for an emergency call on his phone, he kept himself on high alert-- then he heard it.

He heard coughing.

_ A child coughing _ .

“Hayato?!” he called out, louder. Smoke had filled the entire room. Giran knew where the windows were, but he couldn’t risk running in without knowing if there were enemies in the fog. 

“Shit,” he hissed, flipping on the lights and thumbed off the safety of his gun--

“Gee-gee!” came a sudden voice, and a pair of tiny hands latched onto his coat. It was an awfully chipper tone, and when he looked down, Hayato was smiling brightly. “Look, look, it worked!”

“What?” he was completely confused.

-

“Die-er-might’s super yeesy t’mayke!” Hayato was leading Spinner around his new, now very much reinforced, workshop. “Ah’jus stuff c’un-powdur and all sorts’a weirdd kem’icals, like n’tro-cerin and m’ammoneum and stuff. Then fai-yah, and boom!”

Spinner was positively creeped out, but Hayato was cute so okay.

Twice stared at Giran, incredibly judgemental even through the paper bag, and his posture exuded one very clear thing--  _ dude, what the fuck _ .

“In my defense,” Giran immediately says, lifting his hands up in surrender, “how in bloody hell was I supposed to assume my kid would start making goddamn dynamites the second I leave him alone?”

Twice pointed at Hayato, “maybe the fact that  _ he’s a kid that’s probably smarter than you _ might have clued you in.”

“Excuse you, my IQ is past a hundred eighty,” Giran sounded positively offended.

“Oh, one day we’re gonna get that kid a test and you’ll be damned if we find out his is past like two hundred or something,” Twice threw his hands into the air, “Giran, my dude! You’re raising a future psychopath!”

“I reckon it’s all your fault, y’know, all of you sociopaths crawling over my kid all day!” Giran gestured wildly at Hayato, the bumbling sunshine of a child, who was now grandly showing off his biggest premade dynamite collection in the corner of the room, “who gave him that book about modern explosives?”

Everyone pointed at Twice, including Hayato.

“In my defense, Hayato is smarter than me,” Twice insisted.

“So it’s all  _ your _ fault?!”

As everyone in the vicinity got around to throwing everything they could grab at Twice, Hayato was excitedly leading Spinner around again, sounding more excited as he went deeper into his private collection.

Giran sighed. Looks like his days weren’t getting anymore boring.

-

After Hayato tried to blow up the building a few too many times (and because abandoned houses don’t make firework noises in the middle of the night so they needed a countermeasure in case some police came up to investigate,) Hayato was given his own room deep underground.

The walls were soundproof and shockproof, courtesy of a villain who owed Giran a few too many favours. He had a quirk to compose steel from his body and from the minerals in the ground, so it was a cinch and it was a beautiful job.

Hayato was ecstatic about it. He set to decorate the room with all the treasure he’d been hoarding, and along with his stationery and all the books some visitors tend to give him, the room looked like a normal child’s soon enough.

Hayato still slept with Giran, though. He was too small to deserve a bed.

The workshop, as they decided to call it, was then used for a variety of things-- to test explosives, to make weapons, to contain the most annoying of customers. To let Hayato have some fun with said customers. Et cetera.

Giran made a pretty penny with all the dynamite, both to villains and to commonfolk. Hayato had gotten his hands on a book regarding quirk and weaponry laws for some reason, and with that understanding, Giran had advanced his business further.

Well, Hayato was officially his golden goose. God, he loves the kid.

“No, Hayato, I am not letting you buy garlic just so you can harass our customer. He may look like a vampire, but you cannot-- is that silver? Is that a fucking stake? HAYATO!!”

Okay, maybe it had its perks, it also had its flaws. Nothing’s perfect.

Yeah.

(Giran groans, wondering why his life is like this.)


	4. nagi (chrome) and her eccentric sister.

“We’re so sorry. There’s no way we could ever make up for what she’s done…”

“We’ve really tried, but she’s a lost cause.”

“That child… she’s a demon.”

Chrome didn’t quite remember dying, but if she was a baby again, maybe she did die after all. She honestly didn’t care-- what was there to live for, after everyone, after Mukuro, after  _ Tsuna  _ died? She couldn’t protect something that wasn’t there.

“Mama! Papa! Look, it’s so pretty!”

Her older sister giggled, cradling in her hands a rotting corpse of a pigeon. Her lips stretched wide and teeth stained with the stink of fresh blood, her eyes sparkled with amusement for the little unmoving creature.

Their mother screamed. Their father yelled.

Nagi, clutching her little owl doll, watched, emotionless.

Himiko was a very strange older sister, but Nagi didn’t hate her. She was just unique, like Ken and Chikusa, like Mukuro-sama was, like how  _ she  _ was. 

-

Even here, she had none of her most vital organs. A birth defect, apparently, and people couldn’t even blame her mother for it.

Their mother was under so much stress at the time. Himiko killed many pigeons in her life, even a rat or a dog at times, but one day she killed a boy in her school, and sucked on his remains with tears of joy.

Toga Nagi was considered a stillborn-- then she wasn’t.

They would tell her parents that her quirk awakened the moment she left the womb, creating inside her all the necessary organs required, allowing her to function.

She was a miracle.

But this miracle ended the moment they realized those organs weren’t real, but simply  _ illusions _ of the mind. They couldn’t understand it. 

Was Nagi a ghost, then? Is she just an illusion as well? What child could so consciously build up their own form at the moment of their birth? Does their child still exist or is this some nameless ghost haunting their dead daughter’s corpse? Illusions were not any part of their lineage in quirks. Anomalies like these just don’t happen.

They couldn’t understand their child. Their child, again, was not a  _ normal _ child.

(Would Nagi become another monster, just like Himiko?)

This was what eventually drove their mother across the edge. 

-

“It’s all your fault! None of our children are human, they’re both  _ monsters _ ! Can’t you understand how I feel needing to live with demons in the house?”

“Mine?  _ You’re _ the one that gave birth to these disgusting creatures! They can’t be mine! That’s right-- you’re cheating on me! That explains everything!”

“You’re calling  _ me _ unfaithful? As if you don’t look twice on some random ass on the street! You think I don’t know what you do behind my back?”

“That has nothing to do with this! There is no way these monsters are my children! It’s  _ your _ fault,  _ your _ responsibility,  _ your _ monsters!”

Nagi remembered this scene rather vividly, in both of her lives. She was only two years old now, but her sister was in middle school. Himiko cradled the toddler in her arms, and watched the chaos from a crack in the doorway.

Red light. The crash of furniture. A skidding chair. A wine bottle sliding of the edge.

Nagi wondered what face Himiko was making. Nagi was born without the ability to smile, and lacking the emotions to cry. Himiko was born with the tendency to laugh at the most despicable things, and often cried when reprimanded for her psychopathic hobbies.

Nagi didn’t feel much as she watched her  _ new _ parents argue. It wasn’t anything new-- this happened last time too, didn’t it? Her previous parents gave up on her too. She really never brought good things for anyone. She was a harbinger of calamity.

She wondered if Mukuro-sama would come with her this time, but she hoped he wasn’t. She hoped he was still there in the depths of that accursed facility back in their old world, so far in that his voice could never reach her again.

(She hoped that he was still alive in that other world, if only him.)

Himiko smile, a little sadly.

“Let’s go, Nagi,” she talked to her sister in her arms.

Nagi didn’t ask where they were going. Because anywhere away from here was a better place to be in.

-

The first few months were bad. Very bad. 

Himiko went wild. They took refuge at a little abandoned construction site, deep inside its verges, and sent its previous inhabitants running for their mommies.

Himiko’s power was, to them, utterly terrifying. Her personality may have had something to do with it.

Nagi conjured for them what they didn’t have-- crockery, clothing, and the owl plush toy she had neglected to bring along. She couldn’t make any food that was actually filling, but it helped them in crises.

Himiko’s name and face were wide across the world as a psychopath and a missing daughter, especially with some strange article that included an interview with their sobbing, self-victimizing mother. They couldn’t go anywhere near home, so they stuck to the ground and never used their real faces.

After a few days of Himiko not knowing how to earn money, Nagi took it upon herself to materialize as a teenager. She set an eyepatch on the eye that never worked anyway, and called herself Chrome.

Her sister accepted her easily, with a smile and a hug for good measure. Almost wanted to suck some of her blood in gratitude, but Nagi managed to push it off for another day. 

Himiko cleared the enemies in the dark. Nagi worked and earned money in the light. They were less sisters than they were twins by heart. They were free, and they had each other bound in a pact of unconditional love only they understood.

To Nagi, that was not enough. It wouldn’t be enough until she found her lover, she found her  _ family _ again... but for now, she wouldn’t exchange this for anything else.


	5. ryohei doesn't know how to be a kid.

_ “Nii-san, please,” Tsuna had pleaded to him, crouching down beside his wheelchair and looking at him with eyes that brimmed with weakness. “Stop… just stop doing this. You don’t have to--” _

_ Ryohei hadn’t seen Tsuna show such cowardice since before Reborn. _

_ But it was his job to keep smiling, and keep smiling he would. “I’m extremely okay!” he pumped a fist, trying not to show how much his fingers trembled if he didn’t clutch them tightly enough, “I can’t join Takeshi in our morning runs anymore, but a wheelchair won’t make me any weaker!” _

_ And Tsuna choked on a broken sob, his chapped, dry fingers setting down on Ryohei’s dying and unfeeling ones. _

_ They were cold. They were wrinkled. They weren’t capable of boxing anymore, but with the power of the Sun Flames, they could go on just a little longer, and that was what Ryohei was betting his powers on. _

_ “Please… I can’t lose you, too,” his voice came out torn in a sort of beg, “please-- don’t push yourself anymore. Please, you don’t have to use your flames anymore… I just… I never wanted this to happen.” _

_ A few months later, standing before a crowd of enemies on his own, Ryohei silently apologized to his Boss. Giving a prayer of obligation to Knuckle’s God as well, he lit a fire on his bangle and felt it crawl into his veins once again. _

_ They say that only the brave go into a battle knowing their own time of death. _

-

Yamada Hizashi, more well known as Present Mic, woke up with a start. 

There was a writhing figure beside him, choked with sobs and broken pleas-- and his heart shattered when he got up and realized that Ryohei was beside him, trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It wouldn’t be the last for a much longer time.

Cradling him close, rubbing soothing circles across his little back, sometimes Present Mic wanted to go back in time. To throw hands with whatever monster gave this young child such scarring memories that he couldn’t bear the sight of cakes and cream and plush toys, that he hated the thunder-filled nights and hated solitude even more so. 

He’d had police and detectives look into it. Whoever it was that had Ryohei was punished, but his crimes were not too heavy to begin with.

Whatever that had caused this-- this  _ trauma _ , was something different.

What child had such deep scars? Aizawa had scars too, deep, scathing burns of guilt that made even the sight of children and clouds hateable to his eyes. But Aizawa was an adult, a hero that’s gone through much.

Ryohei was just a child. What could have caused this?

(He just wished Ryohei could tell him about it one day.)

-

“Today isn’t bring-your-kid-to-work day.”

“Well either way, you’re the last person I’m leaving the kid with, Nemuri.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Your first hero costume was just a jacket. That’s proof enough that you should never have kids,” Aizawa groaned, lifting Ryohei from his lap and setting him on the floor so he could run off hopefully not out the window.

“Hey, I had a belt too!” she said defensively, “and glasses!”

“You had way too many public indecency charges too.”

Maybe bringing a kid to school wasn’t the greatest idea, but who could blame him, really. Aizawa (not yet a teacher) was going on a dangerous stunt with Ingenium, so Mic had to bring the kid to school or risk a last-minute babysitter.

Aizawa left as quickly as he came, so now all the teachers who had apparently nothing better to do started crowding around him.

“This your kid, Yamada?” Vlad leaned down and held up a hand to the kid, who enthusiastically high-fived back.

“I’m Ryohei!” the child declared brightly. 

“He’s so cuteee!!” Midnight scooped the child right up, ignoring Mic’s undignified squawk, “totally unlike you and Eraser.”

“He’s adopted-- wait, that’s not the point!” Mic snapped as a retort, without heat, “Nemuri, don’t make him uncomfortable.”

“Excuse you I’m ranked second in ‘embrace I would want to sleep in’.”

“That has absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with comfort, I assure you.”

While the two bickered, Ryohei began introducing himself to the rest of the office. He found extreme interest in the guy with a wall for a face, but he was instantly enamoured by Principal Nedzu.

Mainly, by the fact that they were the same size.

“It’s a talking animal wearing clothes! Dad, Dad, look!” Ryohei literally bumbled with glee, eyes glittering in excitement as he spun circles around the Principal, “this is so extreme! Are you an animal like a human or human like an animal? Is this a magic power too? Hi, I’m Ryohei!”

There were quite a few that just mellowed at the sight, but Principal Nedzu took it in stride.

“Nice to meet you, Ryohei-kun, you will call me Principal Nedzu,” he said, “I am very much more animal than human, but thinking mentally and psychologically, I am very much more human than animal. I am a rare form of animal that has obtained a quirk, allowing me to be exceptional even among the humans in terms of intellect.”

Silence.

Leave it to Principal Nedzu to speak complicated vocabulary to a child.

Instead of being confused, Ryohei beamed right back, “I didn’t understand a thing!” he declared, like he was proud of it, “but basically, you’re like Master Pao Pao and Reborn, right?”

“I do not know who Master Pao Pao or Reborn are, but I will assume that you hold them highly in regard,” Principal Nedzu said. “Regardless, while classes go on, you will remain in my office. Am I clear?”

“Extremely!”

“Good. Now come with me.”

“Okay! Bye Dad!”

For some reason, watching the mouse-bear-dog march out the door with a kid in tow was just flabbergasting.

“Did my kid just get kidnapped?” Mic asked, belatedly.

Yeah, yeah he did.

-

As expected from a miniature Mic, Ryohei had an unhealthy obsession with yelling ‘Extreme’ every time he practiced a punch. He also had an unholy obsession with working out-- which Nedzu didn’t mind, except that the kid has run a hundred laps around the walls of his office at this point.

Is his quirk _endless_ _stamina_ , is that it?

“Ryohei-kun,” he called out. “You are going to pull a muscle.”

Ryohei punched the air in response, “it’s okay! That’s how they get stronger!”

(You are  _ five _ years old, Nedzu doesn’t immediately retort. He understands by this point that common sense isn’t working on the child, though he seems to understand the meaning of words and the implication of injuries-- hmm.)

“Why are you trying to get stronger, Ryohei-kun?” Nedzu asked instead-- “what’s the rush?”

When the boy looked back up, Nedzu was surprised to find a stern and so very firm gaze. Unwavering-- and determined. Just like Endeavour always wore-- those were eyes firmly set on a goal, and that was the will of a man that would do anything to achieve it.

“Because I want to protect my  _ family _ ,” Ryohei said, and the cheer in his tone faded, “it’s frustrating that I’m so tiny now. If anything happened-- I’d still be too weak. I won’t be able to protect anything yet as I am now, and I never want to see--”

The words died in his throat.

There’s a lot of distress in that tone, and Nedzu could only guess the darkness that flowed in this child’s veins. But he knew trauma and vigor when he saw it. He’d seen in a lot in the veteran heroes. Even more in the heroes that failed and lost their partners.

(Like Aizawa.)

So why was this child, who couldn’t be more than a handful of years old-- why was this child so vulnerable? How could he have seen so much, understood much more?

Nedzu knew something was up.

But he wasn’t going to ask. In this world of quirks and evolution, there are questions that just can’t be answered. That just  _ shouldn’t _ be answered.

“Ryohei-kun, although I can’t possibly understand what you have gone through,” Nedzu pulled the child toward the couch, and sat down beside him. “But now, we have heroes. Your father is one of them. And if anything were to happen to you, or to anyone you hold dear-- we will be here to protect you, no matter what.”

And Ryohei’s eyes lit up, like a sudden revelation he couldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ comprehend. 

As if the pure aspect of  _ being protected _ had never come across in his head.

He held Ryohei’s hand and let the child take a nap, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach.


	6. nagi, himiko, ying, and yang.

Himiko loved her little sister.

Nagi would always wake up earlier than Himiko. They would make their beds (something Nagi insisted to always do, though Himiko would whine that it didn’t matter) and take turns with breakfast. They would do each other’s hair, sing lullabies, and play.

Their days living alone were bliss.

-

“Welcome home, Onee-chan.”

“I’m home, Nagi!” and Himiko leaped into Nagi’s arms. “Listen to this, Nagi, there was this creep, he was feeling all over me and he was kind disgusting--”

Pause.

Nagi’s hands clutched tightly at Himiko’s, and her eye bore a burning hole into Himiko’s form. Her voice was low and just above a sneer, “ _ what? _ ”

Himiko just swooned. “That’s the face of the Nagi I love!” she cooed, hands over her sister’s face even through the rage-filled glare, “don’t worry, the creep ran away after I stabbed him in the dick. He wasn’t anything special. Uwabami, y’know the lady hero with some cool snakes on her head? She was there and she gave me free ice cream after saying how much of a good job I did! I’ll bring you there next time.”

“It is  _ not _ okay if he touched you, Onee-chan, you should have made sure he never did it again,” Nagi hissed in a tone she rarely used, full of furor and sulking like a child. Her trident materialized by her hand, “that’s right, give me his details I’ll go and make sure he never wakes up again--”

“It’s okayyy, there there Nagi-chan, you’re a good girl,” Himiko wrapped her arms around her sister and rubbed their faces together affectionately, patting her on the head and caressing her cheek, “ahh, you’re just an illusion but you’re so squishy! This is why I love you, you make me forget everything bad and gross.”

“Let go of me, Onee-chan, I need to go kill a man.”

“Oh, you’re adorable!”

-

Nagi loved her older sister. 

It’s an affection so much like yet so different from what she felt for Mukuro. What she felt for Mukuro was something else-- something more-- deep, and emotional.

What Nagi felt for Himiko was unconditional and innocent and pure. She wanted to protect Himiko because no one else wanted to protect her. She wanted to be protected by Himiko because who else would accept Himiko’s love?

Maybe Mukuro had an effect on her.

It’s in the nights where she sits, reminiscing, that she realizes just how far and corrupted she has become.

Himiko is a black heart, but a white soul. Nagi always seemed to be the light-- but in truth, she was the one with the darkness. Himiko was pure, a once beautiful child corrupted by the world… but Nagi-- Nagi was always broken, and she was just pretending to be beautiful for Himiko.

Himiko killed for pleasure.

Nagi killed for desire, and this time around, she did not hesitate.

-

It haunted her in her dreams.

Many times in the life before, she saw them get cut down. She knew she had to steel her heart after her own parents abandoned her, but she never truly had the will to take a life until she saw Lambo die.

Lambo was the trigger to everything.

He had been so young, and she had to watch him  _ die,  _ watch him _ essentially kill himself, _ so she could live. She had caused her own world to fall apart, and so many times she woke up screaming, only for Himiko to hum her a gentle lullaby until the sun rose for them.

She will never make that mistake again, and she swears it.

Himiko was her treasure, not anymore less than her old family was. She would protect Himiko no matter what, even if she had to become a monster for it.

And being a monster was fine. 

Because Himiko would still love her, anyways.

-

Nagi was a goddess at singing. Himiko was almost tone deaf, but her effort was all Nagi needed to warm her heart. 

Himiko was a great cook, contrary to popular belief. Nagi could make simple dishes, but it was a fifty-fifty with anything tougher than fried eggs.

They were polar opposites. Blonde and Indigo, Darkness and Light, Madness and Stability, Ying and Yang, Eros and Agape.

They fit together perfectly, and nothing anyone could say would tear them apart.

-

Himiko’s name and face was kept under wraps in the media, but she was infamous. A serial killer, blood-draining incidents, a psychopathic murderer in a high school girl’s uniform… the stories varied, but were never traced back to “Toga Himiko”. 

This made living out in hiding much, much easier. Perhaps their parents had something to do with it-- they wanted to save face.

But Nagi was different.

Whilst doing proper, honest work was a safe and stable source of income, it just never paid enough. No girl wanted to work full time in her youth.

Nagi could easily disguise herself as an older woman. Or even a young and able man. But why should she, when she could disguise as herself in her prime, and run off into the underworld once again?

**_Chrome,_ ** that was the name she went by. With her hair bound into something reminiscent of Mukuro’s hairstyle and an eyepatch with a skull over her eye-- she donned the Kokuyo Junior High uniform and wielded her trident, finding work in the underground and earning her keep so, so easily.

Together with Himiko, they were infamous as a pair of psychopathic high school girls.

And really, Nagi found herself loving the attention.

People like her were never meant to live in the light. Even Tsuna lived in the darkness, though he shone. They were never meant for the path of justice, and Nagi knew that better than anyone else.

She was closest with the darkness that was Mukuro, after all.

“Nagi, don’t be sad,” Himiko reached over and cupped her cheeks, planting a dear little kiss on her nose, “smile for me?”

Nagi blinked. She wasn’t particularly feeling sad… but she smiled anyways, leaning into the touch.

The warmth of a mother, a sister, like Kyoko, like Haru, like Hana, like Maman. She missed this, she missed this.

She won’t let it go.


	7. kyouya, wandering the city, not lost.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ojiro has a very eccentric little brother.
> 
> But it's okay. The vigilantes around here are looking out for him.

Ojiro Mashirao was not having a good morning.

Mom and Dad were having their third last minute honeymoon getaway of the week.

His only older brother was out for training camp somewhere; the twins were running amok in the house (something about homework and being late  _ I told you to do it yesterday _ ); his sister two years younger was whining about her missing hairbrush, and--

“Oh my god.”

Ojiro Mashirao-- fifteen years old, third year in Junior High School, is horrifically late for karate club practice, hasn’t made breakfast yet, has a tail for a quirk-- he  _ throws  _ his bag on the ground and swirls his head around.

Because  _ oh my god _ ,

“Where’s Kyouya?!”

-

The youngest of the Ojiro family was only about six. 

He was not born with a tail, nor any extra appendages of any kind. The twins only had ears, the eldest had rough skin and scales, and the eldest daughter had a little tail-- but Kyouya, Kyouya had none of that.

The only thing the youngest inherited was an endless burst of energy, and the ability to leap across buildings with a little practice. 

(From the stoical expressions to the minimal, subtle elegance in his fighting stance, he really didn’t seem like a child of the Ojiro Martial Arts Dojo.)

Kyouya had certainly inherited the Ojiro family spirit of guarding and protecting their home, though. He insisted on patrolling the perimeters every day, like a little hero. 

(Except, he was more like a little warrior, loyal to something other than the world.)

“Kyouya! Come back here and put on your coat! You’re going to catch a cold-- stop pretending, I know you can hear me!”

Ojiro Kyouya pouted, shrugging on his jacket. His older brother Mashirao glared at him, arms on his hips and watching him sternly, making sure he actually put it on.

“Cross the roads safely, don’t follow strangers, and be home in time for dinner,” Mashirao warned him, “understood?”

Kyouya looked away. “Hm,” he said, passively.

Mashirao sighed. 

Why were all his siblings such troublemakers?

-

-

How, exactly, did the oh-so amazing Hibari die?

Hibari himself wasn’t too sure, if he was honest about it. He just knew he was fighting. He was standing his ground, protecting something. Purple fire blazing, crimson blood spilling-- and once the battle ended…

...That’s where his memories ended too.

Hibari’s death came suddenly, like Lambo’s. In a battle, surrounded by enemies, and having only one thing they needed to protect-- their deaths were a last shot of desperation, no one expected them to win-- so they won, and then they stopped breathing. 

It’s ironic how similarly they fell, when they were the ones that got along the worst.

Hibari remembered many things. He remembered the way Ryohei’s legs never seemed to work well after Kyoko died; the way Takeshi would throw up mouthfuls of blood, and no one seemed to know the cause.

He wondered if they were fine, or if they followed in his footsteps. 

They always clung so closely to the little Omnivore, after all. Surely, at least the omnivore was alright…

He sighed. 

It didn’t matter anymore. He was dead and that was it, now he just had to try and live again. These memories aren’t supposed to be in his head, so he just had to forget them.

Forget them, and forget the Namimori he once loved while he was at it.

Forget the Sky he once swore his loyalty to, and move on, until he finds another to pledge his life to.

-

-

“Oh, it’s Kyouya-kun!”

He was wandering around the top of a few buildings, admiring how far he could jump over the gaps of buildings-- when he came across a little lodgehouse on top of an abandoned high-rise.

And there, sweeping the front, was a teenager.

“Are you taking a walk?” the teenage boy walked up to Kyouya, crouching down, “ah, I guess you’d call it patrolling, right? It’s cold out. Want a hot drink?” 

Kyouya glared at him.

Haimawari Kouichi is-- _ was _ \-- a rather well-known vigilante in Naruhata. Living in the same area, Kouichi often came across the little boy. At first, he thought the boy was lost-- yeah, he had to redact that opinion very quickly. 

“Herbivore,” Kyouya sneered at him.

“Good morning to you too,” Kouichi said, “you should wear gloves. You’ll get all tingly with static electricity if you touch your tonfas with cold hands.”

“None of your business,” Kyouya responded.

“Of course it’s my business, who do you think I am?” Kouichi boasts.

“You are  _ not _ my big brother.”

“I’m your senior in this patrolling thing, so in a sense, I  _ am _ your big brother.”

“No, you are _ not _ my senior.”

“Yes I am. I might be a retired vigilante, but I’m still a--”

“You imbecile, you herbivore, I’ll bite you to death!”

“Ow!”

People often wonder if Kouichi was a masochist. He’s been tossed around by pro heroes, fellow vigilantes, and villains, and especially girls, but he just takes it with the tolerance of a saint. 

Most of all, he lets the devil of a brat Kyouya smack him around every once in a while, and that’s something everyone tries to avoid.

There’s something amazing about Kouichi, though. 

He’s the pioneer of life lessons. He made Pop reconsider her style of life. He made many reformed villains change their ways. And by some miraculous power, he managed to get Kyouya to sit down and enjoy some rice and soup for breakfast with him in the morning.

Kouichi is a force to be reckoned with.

“When you get bigger, are you going to try and be a hero?” 

That, however, did not mean Kyouya tolerated conversation, so Kouichi was mostly talking to himself.

“I think you’ll make a great hero. You’re strong, you protect the weaker ones in a fight-- though later you beat them up for being weak too,” Kouichi chuckled, “your big brother is aiming for the Hero Course next year, right? You should follow him.”

Kyouya sipped on his soup, pretending to ignore the boy’s rambling.

He patrolled the town, beating up a few delinquents and villains whenever he came across them. Strictly speaking, he’s considered a vigilante, but people usually overlook the matter because of his age. 

The fellow vigilantes and heroes in the area have wordlessly agreed (ironically) to keep an eye out for the child, if only to make sure he didn’t get himself into big trouble. He was strong, but a kid, so there’s plenty he can’t do alone.

It wasn’t as if Kyouya hadn’t noticed it. He just didn’t seem to care. They let him do whatever he wanted, and he wasn’t about to thank them.

He wasn’t a ‘little hero’ or whatever they liked to call him. He found that title repulsive.

Just call him what he is-- call him a criminal.

A soul as tainted as his own was never meant to be in the glorified spotlight. Unlike his brother, unlike All Might, unlike even Kouichi, who did things out of the good of his heart.

Kyouya’s reasons were always selfish. That was why he never followed his family morals. Not in this life, and not in the past either.

Kyouya has and always will be part of the underworld. It’s a road all of them have chosen to walk on, and it’s a road they won’t stop walking on. 

People don’t simply ‘quit’ the Mafia, after all.

One who has walked in the darkness can never hope to walk the path of light again.


	8. lambo, denki, and another set of polar opposite siblings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambo died fifteen years ago, at the fresh age of still too young to drink.
> 
> He misses home.

“Kaminari-- ah, sorry. The younger one, please.”

It’s strange for a pair of twins to pass the UA entrance test together, much less be put into the same class. There was some difficult balancing out to do between the classes, and somehow they were put into the same class despite all that.

Having two lightning quirk users in the same classroom felt imbalanced. They should’ve split them up due to their similar quirks, like how they did for Tetsutetsu and Kirishima-- but alas, they didn’t. Heck if we know why.

“Did you and Mineta do something again?” 

“Why do you always think I’m in trouble?”

Kaminari Lambo, the older; and Kaminari Denki, the younger; they couldn’t be more dissimilar if they tried. From the colour of their hairs to their general attitudes within the classroom, they were polar opposites. 

Even the way they used their quirks were different. Denki was a full storm of power and offense, but Lambo was firm and calculative, an impenetrable defense.

“If you get detention, I’m just going to go home without you.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Strangely enough, the brothers got along perfectly well despite their differences.

-

“You seem to always use your lightning in large amounts all the time, but you don’t get short-circuited and go derp like younger-Kaminari-kun.” 

Midoriya mumbled and mumbled and just  _ kept on mumbling _ .

“Or is it because the colours of the lightning are different and you’re using it differently? Your lightning doesn’t hurt as much as younger-Kaminari-kun’s do, they’re like prickles unless you hit me straight on-- ah, don’t worry about that, that didn’t hurt any more than Kacchan’s blasts anyways, and--”

Lambo was currently having very deep, fearful flashbacks of a certain silver-haired nerd in a library full of papers and skull-adorned rings.

“Stop stop stop stop _ stop _ ,” he held his hand out before the boy, pulling his very trigger happy fist aside and pushing Midoriya’s head up by poking his forehead, “Midoriya, right? If you think of my quirk in terms of Denki’s, you won’t get anywhere. Our quirks aren’t similar beyond the electricity part.”

“Really, older-Kaminari-kun? That makes so much sense!” somehow, he sparkles with a revelation, “but it does have a lightning attribute, so maybe I should think of this in looser terms. You’re always using a shield, so--”

Lambo groaned longsufferingly. 

Once you get caught in Midoriya’s mumbling interviews of hero nerdiness, you’re usually trapped for hours unless you do a Todoroki and just walk away.

“You can just call me Lambo,” he said instead, “ditch the younger-older thing, it’s a mouthful and it’s confusing.”

“Okay, Lambo-kun! Come to think of it, Kaminari-kun doesn’t need a conduit of any sort. Could you use your ability without a conduit? Or is your electricity weaker and that’s why you use a conduit? Could Kaminari-kun use a conduit and get stronger?”

“Midoriya, you’ve used the word  _ conduit _ like four times in a row.”

“But it’s a conduit, right-- a shield? Does it have to be metal? Would any lightning-conductive item work or does it have to be a special kind of iron, or does it depend on the person? I wonder if the defensive properties would also work through water! Oh, or even human bodies--”

“ **_Midoriya_ ** !” Lambo hissed. His voice was sharper this time, brows scrunched in irritation.

Midoriya shot back, looking fearful at the sudden fierce response. Bakugou gets angry at him all the time, but this was definitely different. 

It would be like Uraraka or Kirishima getting mad at him-- just straight up  _ terrifying, _ because of how unlikely it was to happen.

“Look, just-- drop it,” Lambo faltered at Midoriya’s fearful expression, and looked away. “Don’t be giving Denki any strange ideas, okay?”

“Ah-- Lambo-kun!”

-

There’s something Lightning Flame users should never do. 

A taboo, if you must call it. 

Verde had once pulled him aside and given him a stern talking to about it. There’s a reason Lightning Flame users are known as the hardest to master. It’s defensive, among other things. It’s not an ideal course of battle.

_ “Never use your flames on your own body,” Verde told him. _

Maybe Lambo was too young to understand that rules were made for a reason.

_ “What’s so different about Lightning Flames? Skull does it all the time,” Lambo argued, like an idiot, “Ryohei, too, healing properties and all. And Takeshi… oh, and Hibari’s been trying to imitate Skull for a while.” _

_ “He’s been doing what?!” Verde snapped, “that moron! Does Skull know about this? Of course not. I’m going to talk to Reborn, you can leave.” _

_ “Wait, you haven’t answered my question!” _

It’s a few weeks later, trapped in battle with Chrome behind him, that Lambo finally gets his answer. He held his own, channeling surge upon surge of flames through his veins, and he felt his own body stand stronger.

He could sense the way each finger froze still like the strongest of metal, heavier, heavier. His own body was the strongest shield the Vongola could ever have, and he was proud of it.

Bitterly, he laughed.

The flames threaded through his veins, to his blood, to his lungs, to the oxygen in his brain. And it solidified.

_ It’s probably the most painful way to die, ever. _

He’s not sure what ultimately killed him. Suffocation? Cardiac arrest? Or his wounds? Or did his body ultimately shatter and he crumbled like a broken statue?

He just hoped he died smiling, because that’d be a nice fuck you to them.

-

-

What possessed him to become a hero?

It’s always been a dream of his. To be strong, to help the weak-- he didn’t have a choice last time around, so maybe he wanted to feel like he could choose this time.

Being the oldest, albeit just by a few hours, felt really weird. Waking up in a new world felt the worst.

(He just wanted to go home. Has been wanting to go home for fifteen years now.)

So what the fuck is he doing now? Playing hero with a bunch of kids in this ridiculous, comic book society? All of them don’t know a thing about the world.

“I really don’t think heroics suit me, Denki,” he admitted to his brother one day, “all of you are so… kind. So passionate-- even Ochako has a motivation and Mineta has a resolve to change. And I’m just here because I have nothing better to do.”

“What’s this all of a sudden?” Denki poked him in the forehead, grinning brightly, “you’re such an edgelord, Lambo! Don’t think too much about it and just have fun.”

Lambo only looked back, frowning.

Denki had his brother’s hand in his. 

“I know you better than anyone, Lambo,” Denki smiled, “and you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Lambo never understood why Denki kept on insisting something so obviously false. 

Lambo was never a kind person. He threw grenades around when he was a child because of every minor inconvenience. He had so many tantrums for childish reasons. He stole things. He killed people when he was six. 

He was born into the Mafia and in the Mafia he grew up.

How did anyone even be good? Tsuna was the most moral person Lambo had ever met, and he was the head of the cruelest company in the underworld. 

Lambo’s never stepped foot in the world of light, so this time, he’s so uncomfortable out here. How did people handle living so… so  _ clean _ ?

Every time he blinked, he could still see the blood on his hands, the dullness in his eyes, and the orders of  **_kill them, kill them_ ** , still rang so clear in his head, like a mob chanting him a curse that’s bound to him forever.

“C’mon, Lambo! Mom’s cooking cream stew tonight and if you’re late, I’m eating your share too!”

Lambo watched Denki run off into the sunset, and somehow, he just smiled. Is this how it feels to have a little brother? He kind of liked it. It’s nice.

“I’ll catch up.”

_ Yeah, he has to.  _

Because his Tsuna-nii isn’t here anymore, and he’s alone in all of this. To wish for them to be here with him is like wishing for them to die too. That defeats the purpose of him dying for them in the first place.

It’s so bitter, but he has to swallow it and move on.

And though the light hurts, he has to adapt.


	9. they're quirkless... oh wait, nevermind. (ft Hayato and Kyouya)

**Giran realizes that Hayato has a quirk when the kid was meeting Shigaraki for the first time.**

Hayato himself doesn’t think he has anything like a quirk at all. He’s got an abnormally high IQ-- but he’ll pass that off as an effect of his memories. 

He doesn’t have any mutant body parts (dammit) and nothing else in him seems out of the ordinary. No elemental manipulation of any sort (that he has shown), no super strength, no dumb psychic powers. None.

Giran had been a little upset about it (but not more upset than Hayato himself,) but they’ve deemed him quirkless, and that’s what he’ll call it.

“I hate kids,” Shigaraki sneers at him, “I thought you knew that, Giran.”

“Oh, I absolutely know,” Giran says, “but Hayato’s a good kid. He’ll behave.”

“That isn’t the problem here--”

“Mister Weird Mist Guy!” Hayato is somehow at Kurogiri’s side all of a sudden, tugging at the highest point he can reach-- just below the bartender’s knee. He’s sparkling. “Can I touch your face? It’s so cool!”

Shigaraki stares incredulously at Giran.

Giran grins. “He just likes mutant quirks, so don’t worry.”

“Yeah! I’m not int’rested in people that look like they haven’t showered in weeks” Hayato agrees. 

Shigaraki swirls, because the voice is about five feet too high above the ground-- and Shigaraki looks utterly scandalised to find Kurogiri cradling the boy in his arms like a baby. 

“God damn it, Kurogiri! Why are you so smitten with a child?! You’re a villain! We’re villains!!”

“Don’t get me wrong, Shigaraki Tomura, I don’t get smitten with  _ any _ child,” Kurogiri squints at him, and somehow that’s insulting, “I just like this one.” 

And he lifts Hayato up high, the four-year old admiring just how tall he could go.

Shigaraki throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“Get rid of him, or I’ll do it myself!” he demands.

“Now don’t be a wet blanket,” Giran teases, “he’s just there because I couldn’t find a babysitter.”

“We’re not babysitter substitutes!”

And he’s right. But does Kurogiri care? As long as it doesn’t interfere with their main goal, no.

-

Hayato sits beside them with Kurogiri when Shigaraki and Giran work.

Then Shigaraki picks up a vase-- and Hayato watches in muted fascination as the porcelain crumbles right then and there.

And Hayato  _ sparkles _ .

“Hey, Breadcrumb Face!” he hobbles up to them, Kurogiri right behind him. 

Shigaraki looks ready to _accidentally_ put his hand on the kid’s head, but one annoyed look from Giran makes him hesitate. 

Hayato steps up toward the table. “Hey, hey, you can disintegrate stuff?” he asks with all the excitement of a child admiring a Disney mascot. 

Shigaraki has no idea why the kid knows a complicated word like  _ disintegrate _ , but he grimaces. He did not like being treated like a freakshow.

But then, to everyone, even  _ Giran’s _ surprise, Hayato shows them his hands.

And then, it bursts into flames.

Everyone shoots back a foot in surprise.

Hayato beams, as if his hand isn’t on fire and Giran isn’t going ballistic screaming for the fire extinguisher in the corner.

He just steps closer to Shigaraki, and smiles. “Then you’re just like me!”

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

Shit.

Shigaraki wants to keep this kid.

Fuck.

-

-

**The first time Kyouya uses his quirk, Ojiro spits out his drink.**

The twins were fighting over the last chunk of bacon, when Kyouya just reached over, and flooded the table with purple flames.

Mashirao  _ freaks _ , thinking the world was on fire-- only to suddenly realize that the bacon was multiplying and… the flames weren’t burning anything.

...what?

They extinguish in a second, and a mountain of bacon is left on the table.

Kyouya finishes eating, sets down his cutlery, and steps off his chair.

“I’m going out,” he says. “Patrol.”

And he closes the door behind him, like that was nothing out of the ordinary for life.

Mashirao groans as the twins  _ dive _ for bacon. 

He then signs himself up for counselling because at this rate, he’s going to commit mutiny.

-

-

“Ah, Eraserhead-san!” Haimawari Kouichi greets him, only to receive a fierce glare in response. “Here to bother the Hotta brothers again? They have an actual cafe now, so you’ll have to go through the front door, y’know?”

Aizawa scowls. 

“That’s right--” Kouichi says, pointing toward the lamp post where a certain child was perched, “--that’s Kyouya. He’s a kid that comes by every now and then… please don’t look at me like that, Eraser-san…”

“You’re corrupting children,” Aizawa says.

Kouichi looks positively offended. “You say that, and then you bring Ryo-chan to the den of drug dealers.”

Aizawa has his capture tape out, and he loops one string around the kid’s hands-- and the kid, caught off guard, isn’t prepared when he’s dragged down from his perch and right into the arms of a rather hobo looking man.

Kyouya makes a weak whimpering noise.

He had reached for his tonfas, but he wasn’t quick enough and his fingers were too short and chubby to get a grip on it before he landed.

So now Aizawa has a kid in his arms.

“Don’t be mean to him, Eraser-san,” Kouichi says. “He’s just about as young as Ryo-chan, you know?”

“Kids that age have zero self-preservation skills, I learned,” Aizawa says, like he’s sassing, “for example, if they’re on a fucking lamp post, you get them the fuck down.”

Kouichi nods, “you should run.”

“Huh?”

-

“What happened to you, Shouta?!” Mic panics.

Aizawa walks in with a bunch of scratches, a bandaged arm, and a split lip.

He grumbles. “I fought with a cat.”


	10. lambo, this is not extreme at all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> USJ happens. (p.s Lambo has a potty mouth and that's Dera's fault.)
> 
> And then, wait.   
> Why is there a kid in the principal's office?

USJ. 

Lambo fucking hates USJ.

From the villain attack to the being separated from Denki to the Aizawa getting his ass owned, to the fucking creepy hands guy, Lambo hated every moment of it.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the villain screams, and a flood of needles shoot towards him.

Hagakure is behind him. Todoroki’s too far away to save them. His shield is just a stone too far away. 

Lambo doesn’t think.

“GET DOWN!”

He swirls, arms before him, green flames blasting.

-

It didn’t hurt.

It didn’t hurt at all.

Really, it didn’t.

Fuck.

Why can’t he stop swearing?

-

“No no, don’t touch them, fuck, it’s--” 

It’s really the first time Denki has heard Lambo swear that much. 

The first thing Denki does once the heroes arrive, and the students regrouped-- is to look for Lambo.

And what he sees makes his stomach sink in dread.

Lambo has his hands before him, painfully still, and he’s looking more distressed than Denki has ever seen him. Sweating, biting on his lips, swearing-- and his hands can’t move.

Hagakure is panicking. Todoroki has gone to call Recovery Girl, and the rest of the students are getting an ambulance for Midoriya.

“It’ll be-- fine,” Lambo curls the fingers on one hand like he’s thawing it out of a million degree freezer, “I can still move them. It’ll, it’ll wear off in a bit so--”

Denki yells at him.

“You’re obviously not okay!” he snaps, and he doesn’t care when everyone turns to him in surprise. “Stop acting tough already. C’mon, we’re going to Recovery Girl!”

And when Denki grabs Lambo, it’s by his shirt, not by his arms.

-

-

It never quite healed properly.

Aizawa gave them all a lecture on proper quirk usage after that, doubly so because it involved two idiots instead of one this time. 

And unlike Midoriya’s, Recovery Girl couldn’t quite heal this.

In fact, Lambo refused it.

“It’s not something that can heal naturally,” he says, because he knows. “My arm isn’t hurt-- it’s frozen. Hardened. You’ll have to disintegrate the hardening attribute from it first, before activating the cells again.”

Flame injuries can only be fully healed by flames. 

If it’s too severe, like last time around, it can’t be healed by anything. But this time, it’s just a mild case. He’s used little enough of his flames that the effects for one arm were only temporary.

His left arm regained most of its mobility after the flames naturally flushed out of his veins. He just needed some muscle rehabilitation to get it back to work. But his right arm was an entirely different matter, because the flames reached the bones and the flesh and solidified up to his elbow.

If it wasn’t healed someday, it would probably stay impaired forever.

He knew that.

People in this world didn’t need flames, so the chances are much lower that he’ll ever get healed. 

(It’s better than dying, though.)

(It’s better than seeing Hagakure get hurt because he hesitated sacrificing a measly arm for what might have been her entire hero career.)

So, Lambo didn’t expect to get healed anytime soon.

He definitely didn’t expect to walk into the Principal’s office, one hand holding a file, and the other arm in a cast-- only to see a miniature Sasagawa Ryohei sitting on the couch, nursing a cup of hot chocolate.

They both froze right there, jaws agape.

“Ah, Kaminari-kun,” Nedzu greets him, “I suppose you’re here to deliver your medical reports for me to sign?”

Lambo drops his file.

“Ry--” his eyes are stuck on the kid on the couch, “...Ryohei, what--?!”

Ryohei slowly takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

Then he immediately proceeds to choke.

-

Lambo chucks the file at Nedzu, then lunges for the boy.

At first, he tries to grab him, then he remembers his arm is in a cast, so he just crashes against the sofa.

“Ryohei?!” Lambo says, sprawled half on the floor, his left hand reaching up toward the child. “This is-- impossible, no, what are you, why?”

Ryohei’s trying to gain his breath back, taking a few sips more to clear his throat. 

The kid laughs. “I didn’t expect to see you!” he says, “that was one extreme surprise!”

“Don’t ‘that was one extreme surprise’ me!” Lambo snaps, “you’re not supposed to be here and you know it! Why are you in a school anyways? How old are you?!”

Ryohei’s still laughing, which makes Lambo reach up to pinch his cheeks out. 

It’s at that point that Nedzu comes down from his perch of an office table, the file in his hands.

“Now now, Kaminari-kun,” Nedzu chides, “Ryohei-kun is here often. It’s much more convenient for the child of Present Mic to be in the school than outside, after all.”

Lambo hums. That makes a bit of sense.

Then, “wait.” he blinks, letting go of the cheek. “ _ Who’s _ child?!”

Ryohei has the gall to raise his arms and declare, “Present Mic!” because he’s an adorable blockhead like that.

Lambo thinks his entire life is a lie. 

“That guy, of all people?! Wait, it kinda fits,” he mutters. Then, “no no, why are you uh, five years old?”

“I’m six!” he raises six fingers.

“Stop being fucking adorable!” Lambo squeezes his cheek again. 

Ryohei giggles all bubbly, and Lambo’s heart immediately melts. He buries his face into the cushion of the couch in misery.

Beside them, Nedzu watches the scene in confusion.

“Do you happen to know Ryohei-kun?” he asks. “I was not aware that you could be such acquaintances, seeing as Yamada and Aizawa keep such tight reins on him.”

Ryohei just grins, “Lambo’s from  _ way _ before that!”

And Nedzu just looks on, even more confused than before.

Lambo wraps Ryohei around in a hug as he sits down on the couch, squeezing the boy like a plush toy. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he mutters, “you’re supposed to be there, with them…”

Ryohei pouts, “well, we all die someday!” he says, cheerfully.

“Don’t say morbid things so happily,” is Lambo’s response. “Looking at the age difference, had it been about ten years?”

“Yep!”

Nedzu just keeps staring at them. He has no idea how a sixteen year old and a six year old could have such a familiar, brotherly relationship, especially one where Lambo didn’t even know that Ryohei was Mic’s kid.

(And what did Ryohei mean, ‘from way before that’? And ten years of what? Ryohei isn’t even that old.)

Lambo groans. 

“How long are you gonna hug me?” Ryohei asks, looking upward.

“Forever.”

“Okay!” Ryohei beams, “you’re still such an extremely depressing guy, huh? Kyouya’s been infecting you? Or is it Hayato?” 

Well, Nedzu thinks as he returns to the desk, picking up Lambo’s medical file. At least they’re both getting along. Kaminari-kun cheered up too, so that’s a plus. 

Unbeknownst to him, a light yellow light warms them up from within, and Lambo can’t bear to be any further apart from Ryohei right now.

It’s so soothing. So sweet.

He tries his best not to cry, but he knows they're happy tears.


	11. hayato, navigate through the lies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League of villains recruits some newbies. This is a deal we're talking about-- a villain alliance. This is not a classroom, not a friendly partnership. This is business-- and business in a morally gray environment is Hayato's specialty. 
> 
> (It just happens to have become _that girl's_ specialty too, somewhere in the past years.)
> 
> (She _is_ a Mist, after all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is not exactly chronologically written! So yeah previous chapter is USJ and this is an event that only happens after Stain. We'll get back to the in-betweens with the other characters, okayyy
> 
> Anyways love you guys enjoy the chapter :)

The first time Toga Himiko shows up, she comes with a patchwork-edgelord in tow. They’re a startling contrast of very different psychopaths, but Hayato will digress.

He sat at the corner, on a table with a cup of ice lemon tea. 

Giran had given him homework-- that is, to find out everything about why Hero Killer Stain is incredible in their line of work-- and Hayato was absorbed in the research. 

(Giran had only told him to do it so Hayato wouldn’t go make new bombs while society was on such a harried lookout for villainy, but Hayato loved doing it so it’s a win-win situation. It’s been a while since he let himself be absorbed in research.)

So there Hayato was, notes sprawled out before him, books on one side, newspaper clippings buried somewhere underneath, and a video playing on a phone to the side. The earphones are a blessing, because he’s managed to ignore the initial introduction and briefing for the new guys.

And then, he’s interrupted by a woman squealing.

It’s the noise he hated the most in the world, and he was ready to stab their eyes out-- but holy shit it’s a high-school girl.

“Who’s thiiiis? Oh my god he’s such a cutie!” the girl with her hair up in two messy buns-- she reminded him of Haru, if Haru was a psychopath-- nevermind.

Then the boy, not much older than the girl-- his face was covered in deep stitches and severe burn scars-- Hayato’s face scrunched up, knowing exactly how that feels. “So the League of Villains babysit on the side?” 

The snark makes Hayato smile.

It’s very nostalgic-- the language of the assholes. He almost says something back, but Kurogiri speaks first. 

“He’s Giran’s kid.”

“Oh?” the girl beams, “no way, that ugly guy made such a cute kid?”

“Sounds like a security risk for Giran,” Dabi looks at Hayato from a distance, like he’s a spider he just wants to desperately go away, “well, whatever.” 

“Hayato will be fine,” Giran says, taking a drag of his cigarette, “he’s our golden goose, actually. In fact, he’s the one that approved of this recruitment.” 

That catches the two by surprise. 

Hayato removed his earphones, stopping the video of Stain on the phone and setting it aside. 

“He’s Hayato,” Giran sees the cue for an introduction. “If this building ever burns down and you can only take one thing with you-- we take Hayato, got it?”

Neither of them make a response.

“And this is Toga Himiko, and Dabi. I’m sure you didn’t hear their introduction.”

Hayato nods stoically. 

He’d been the one to recommend these two-- the pyromaniac with blue flames, and the psychopathic pair of teenage girls-- but Giran had been the one to identify and narrow them down to a contactable degree. 

His eyes land on Dabi for a long moment-- then he turned to Himiko. The girl was looking at him with a goofy grin, but thankfully, unlike Haru, she knew how to keep her hands to herself when it came to kids.

“Are you not… two?” he asked, speaking up slowly, because he knows this isn't a situation for his inaccurate pronunciation to come through. 

Toga pointed at herself. Everyone in the room also looked at her.

“Oh,” she said, beaming, “I’ll bring her tomorrow!” she clarified, speaking of her partner like it was some article she’d left at home instead of a person they needed to introduce in a new alliance.

Brows raised at her blatant show of how nonchalantly she saw the situation. 

Either way, Hayato was not having a good feeling about this girl. League of Villains or not, some degree of professionalism should be expected! Or maybe he’s just holding mafiosi standards too high over his head. It’s upsetting. 

Seriously, if Toga’s partner shows up tomorrow and she’s anything less than spectacular, he’s going to ask Giran to charge double. 

-

“Hey Hayato, our next plan involves trying to take the kid that won the Sports Festival,” Giran told him, very casually, over a plate of hot omelette rice. 

Hayato hummed, like they were talking about the weather or something.

“We'll leave the planning to Shigaraki and the others,” Giran said, “so in the meantime, how about you document all the quirks of the UA teachers?”

“Okay,” Hayato said over a mouthful of rice, “and the students?”

Giran looked back at that, “Well, we don’t have much on the students anyway. At least, the ones that matter,” he said, “I think you can skip those.”

Hayato paused.

He looked up, and Giran flinched, seeing the deep scowl set over his face.

“We need them,” Hayato said, firmly. “Don’t cut corners.”

There was no room for negotiation there, so Giran sighed, setting down his cup. Massaging his temples, he knows he’s in for a great talking to in the next strategy meeting. “Okay, Hayato,” he conceded, “if you say so, I will bring it up to the big guy.”

Kurogiri watched in fascination.

It’s not everyday you see a kid intimidate a grown man into obeying his orders.

-

Toga Himiko showed up with her sister the next day.

The girl had deep indigo hair, a green gakuran, and an eyepatch over her right eye. She bowed politely upon entry, and introduced herself as Chrome.

Hayato didn’t know what to think.

Didn’t know what to think about this unspeakable sourness in his chest right now, threatening to spill as a frustrated scream.

His hand gripped tightly on the glass of water, and he couldn’t look up. His grip isn’t tough enough to crack the glass, no matter how hard he wants it to shatter. 

“That’s Giran, Shigaraki, Kurogiri, and Dabi,” Toga introduces happily, and finally settles beside Hayato on the bar counter. “And this is--”

Chrome’s eyes widen slightly-- and her mouth falls open.

“...Hayato-san?”

Hayato knows what's coming and he doesn't want it to happen. She doesn't want either of them to cry now, even if he feels like breaking down and hugging her close as if that isn't completely out of character for them. He can't do that now-- they just can't. So he keeps his hand on the cup of water-- and  _ swings _ , chucking the glass right at the girl. 

Chrome squeezes her eyes shut in surprise, the glass hits her-- and her form dissipates into indigo wisps. 

The cup continues on its path, and crashes loudly against the bar floor. Kurogiri gives a resigned groan, and Shigaraki stands up-- but  Toga reacts immediately, eyes blowing wide and knife escaping her sleeve. No one manages to stop her before she grabs Hayato by the collar, knife coming down--

A hand materialized in a blur of indigo, coming down on Toga’s hand and swiping the blade out of trajectory before it connected. 

Giran immediately swooped in, taking Hayato in his arms and gaining some distance.

Chrome held her sister’s hand, and reached up to caress her face. “It’s okay, Onee-chan,” she said, in that soothing, gentle voice that she loved so much. 

And Toga straightened-- though the hostile look in her eyes hadn’t left.

“You have a minute to explain yourself,” Toga said, her voice low. It went without saying that she really didn’t care how cute Hayato was at that moment.

Hayato wriggled out of Giran’s arms, dusting himself off and readjusting his now crumpled shirt.

“Hayato, why did you do that?” Giran asked, his voice stern. He’d trusted Hayato in plenty of situations-- not being dumb among murderers is one of the things he excelled at-- and yet, Hayato did this. It just didn’t make sense.

Hayato looked up. 

“Just making sure I was talking to the one I liked better,” he said, his eyes meeting Chrome’s. “Don’t you know it’s rude to meet someone as an illusion?”

A few brows raised at this.

Chrome patted her sister on the head reassuringly before crouching down to Hayato’s eye level.  She smiled-- honestly, it’s felt like forever since she’s smiled like this. 

“I apologize if I appeared to be rude. You look well, Hayato-san.”

Hayato scoffs, “is that so. You don’t look any different from before… to an almost creepy degree.”

And Chrome chuckled at that.

(Toga’s eyes widen, but for a different reason now.)

(No one had ever made her sister laugh. Her sister didn’t smile for anyone but her-- and Himiko was so sure it was never going to change with their lives now--)

(--but she was happy. Why?)

Shigaraki sat down, Giran kept a wary eye on them, but stood up, backing off in time with Toga. Dabi watched on curiously, and Kurogiri served Hayato a new cup of water. 

Hayato made most of the calls here when it came to people-- so if Hayato was still trying to determine his approval, they were going to give him the time. 

Even if that tradition was just fucking weird at best.

“So are you two acquainted?” Kurogiri asked, though no one was sure how that could be possible.

“You could say that,” Hayato muttered, making his way back up the bar stool-- Giran came over to carry him up, since he looked like he was having trouble. Hayato made a show of turning back to the question, “just to be clear… you’re strong, right?”

His eyes flashed red for just a second, and Chrome couldn’t suppress her giggle.

“No,” her answer surprises everyone, and only Hayato notes her subtly setting a hand at her stomach. “I am not strong at all.”

She smiles in that slight, mystical curve that Hayato had always hated and loved at the same time. 

Her eyes were soft, clouded, and held every bit of dishonesty in her soul-- because that’s the gaze one makes to cast doubts, so they can begin to sow seed upon those suspicions, and spread their roots in every pore they find.

“I can be much more, and I can be nothing at all,” she said, cryptically, “I will be whatever you wish, but I can also be everything you don’t need me to become. I am at your disposal-- but I only exist at your best. It is nice to meet you all.”

Hayato had to remind herself that she would never lie to him, because the skeptic in his soul was beginning to want nothing to do with this girl.

And yet, Chrome would be an undeniably useful pawn. They can’t afford to lose her in their arsenal.

_ (Hayato knew that Giran and Shigaraki knew this too.) _

So he was proud. 

So, so damn proud of this girl.

(He can’t wait to fight with her on his side again.)


End file.
